


Triptych

by chaos_harmony



Series: The Wind-Up Girl 'Verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_harmony/pseuds/chaos_harmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn wasn’t raised for this.  Going about grabbing people at random and passionately kissing them was highly discouraged in the Stormtrooper barracks.  She has no roadmap for how to diplomatically manage the consequences of making out with one friend, much less two, much less being gleefully found out by the second that you made out with the first.</p><p>Or: the adventures of girl!Finn, ex-Stormtrooper and human disaster, continue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triptych

**Author's Note:**

> A tawdry little post-TFA spin-off companion (of sorts) to Wind-Up Girl. Can be read as a stand alone story, but might make more sense if you've read the first.

The first thing Finn notices after she wakes is that her hair’s grown longer than it’s supposed to, curling in stubborn loops and tufts, like a disheveled halo around her head. With a pang, she thinks: _I’m in protocol violation_. She waits, seconds slowing down around her, for Captain Phasma to arrive in uniform, and order Finn brusquely away to be properly barbered and helmeted.

Then the events of her more recent life – Poe Dameron, the TIE fighter, the crash, the map, the lightsaber, snow everywhere, Rey, Rey, _Rey_ \-- cascade over her brain like an avalanche, and Finn has to remember to breathe: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Situational awareness – _you are awake, you are in a medbay, and you are presumably on a rebel base and not a First Order ship, because no one appears to have had you executed or tortured yet_ \-- seeps into her consciousness like oxygen to a spent soldier.

Stars, how long has she been sleeping?

A doctor arrives. There are a lot of questions after that – questions and poking and prodding and little metallic devices that beep and whir and confirm that the living, breathing girl in front of them is, in fact, both living and breathing. Finn answers as best she can, but mostly just wishes everyone would go away.

“Rey,” she tries to ask, between answering far too many questions from both human and droid medbay staff, “What happened to Rey?”

One of the medbay droids cocks its shiny humanoid head at her. “Has no one told you? Young Rey has left to train with Master Luke himself.”

“Oh,” says Finn, like all the oxygen’s been let out of her again. “Oh.”

She’s happy for Rey. She is. Real warmth floods her at the knowledge that the other girl’s alive, and Finn kind of wishes she’d been awake during the last of that terrible fight in the snow, just to see the look on the great and mighty Kylo Ren’s face upon being bested by a scrappy pair of girls, a traitor-soldier and a no-name scavenger, sharing a lightsaber he can’t even touch. 

And yet.

“Do you,” Finn ventures, swallows, tries again. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

They don’t. 

*

The first time Poe Dameron visits her – or more accurately, the first time she’s awake and moving when Poe Dameron visits her – she’s on her feet before she remembers she’s still shaky-legged, and he stumbles a little, taking the brunt of her weight when she pitches against his chest. 

“Hey.” His voice is a rumble against her face. One of his hands braces her shoulder, steadying her, while the other skims over the base of her skull, fingers tangling loosely into the overgrown cloud of hair there. “Hey buddy.”

“Sorry,” she says, muffled against his shirt. Her throat is suddenly, stupidly tight, and she’s utterly embarrassed by the threat of tears burning behind her eyes and nose. She tries to add, _Rey’s gone, and I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, and I don’t even know when she’s coming back._

What actually comes out of her mouth is, “I need a haircut.”

Poe’s fingers hesitate over the curls at the nape of her neck. “I could cut it for you, if that’s what you want,” he says slowly. “But Finn, are you sure? I mean, you…”

He trails off, uncharacteristically awkward and evidently short of words. She cranes her neck to look him in the eye, intrigued. “I what?”

He sounds embarrassed. “You just have nice hair is all. It looks – you look nice.”

Finn’s not sure how to take that. In the First Order, Finn’s hair was never nice, even when cropped short into the correct fashion. At best, it merited no adjective at all, and at worst, it was “an unkempt mess, FN-2187; handle this problem immediately.” 

Finn fixes Poe with a very dubious eye. “I’ve been sleeping for like a million hours. I have the galaxy’s worst bedhead.”

He laughs. “Even bedhead won’t hide something beautiful you’re born with. But I can help you trim it, if you’d like.”

She eyes the shiny, flawlessly groomed expanse of Poe’s hair, and reaches for her own tangled curls, abruptly self-conscious. “We were supposed to keep it real short back at the barracks. It was – things were simpler, that way.”

He peers at her for a long moment. “We could still trim it that way, if it makes you happy,” he offers, “but we could also let it grow. This place isn’t like –“ His Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes darken a little. “This isn’t like the Stormtrooper barracks. Hair is hair, yeah? Short or long or totally bald, it’s all up to you. ” He cuffs her lightly on the shoulder and grins wide at that last bit. 

She’s still thinking about Rey, but when Poe Dameron smiles like that, Finn’s not sure there’s a sentient creature in the galaxy that won’t smile back.

She cuffs him back. “Okay, hotshot. What else can you do with hair?” 

*

A lot, as it turns out. Finn doesn’t know what Poe got up to before he became a Resistance pilot, but a great deal of it seems to have involved fiddling with human hair in every texture and variety imaginable. He sits behind her on the bed with an arsenal of clips and pins and ties at his disposal, along with several very interestingly scented products. Painstakingly, he loops her curls into beautiful, intricate little braids, coiled against her skull.

Poe’s fingers twist in and out of her hair the same way they’d flown across the TIE fighter controls: swift, sure, and strangely loving. It occurs to Finn that someone must have taught him how to do this too; that he must have done this for other people. Finn wonders who they were to him: friends or family, girlfriends or boyfriends, Poe’s fingers flying through their hair, Poe’s legs bumping up against theirs.

He chats to her, voice soothing and easy, as he does the braids. “I had a – hmm, what was it? A cousin of a cousin of an uncle? Not sure if we were even direct blood relatives, but she was a Bey, from my ma’s side of the family, back on Yavin 4. We didn’t see each other much – military families and all – but she had hair a bit like yours. Not as thick, or as springy, but even curlier than mine, which already turns into enough of a mess in the cockpit if I don’t put product in, thank you. But man, Jeela Bey, I swear that girl had hers in a different sculpture up on her head every time I saw her. Real works of art. And there was this boy too, who lived a few houses down from me when I was a kid, and –“

His knuckles slide along one of her earlobes as he catches at an escaping curl. She doesn’t actually hear what happened to the boy who lived a few houses down from Poe, because electricity skitters down her spine, and she squirms violently in response without meaning to.

The mattress dips. Hair ties spill across the floor. Poe makes a comical sound of distress as the curl escapes. Finn’s keenly aware of how ridiculous the two of them probably look right now: his legs tangled awkwardly around her waist on a bed meant for one, half her hair braided elegantly against her skull, the rest of it ballooning outward like a curly little storm cloud.

He’s got one hand absently curved at her waist, the gesture faintly protective. The other has reclaimed a lock of her hair, his palm kissing her cheek. Finn, half turned, stares at him. 

He stares back, twirling her lock of hair round his finger, grin sheepish. “Oops?”

They attempt to detangle from one another in the exact same instant. What happens instead is this: she leans in, he leans back, and because Finn’s life is occasionally a truly terrible slapstick holovid comedy, they’ve pitched themselves backward against the pillows. Finn’s hands land on either side of Poe’s head with a thoroughly undignified _poof_. She braces herself there for a moment, staring down at him, but he’s not meeting her gaze. Instead, his eyes are on her mouth, heavy lidded, long lashes painting shadows against his cheekbones.

Which of course has the problematic side effect of drawing her eyes down to _his_ mouth, and she’s really not sure where her brain goes after that, because instead of sitting up and getting off him like she’s supposed to, she leans down and drops her lips against his.

Her brain returns a couple seconds too late, and immediately thinks: Oh, _shit_.

Poe goes utterly still. Finn’s brain is still very busy spelling out four-letter words, when Poe makes a desperate little sound into her mouth, and all at once, he’s poetry in motion, surging into the kiss, hands splaying reverent over the swell of her hip, the curve of her belly. She’s not sure how he manages it, but somehow, he’s got her straddling him, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth. He makes that sound again, back arching. Something uncoils in her belly in response. She grinds up against his hips, her hands roaming everywhere: his hair, his shoulders, the sides of his jaw. 

When he pulls back, it’s abrupt, the air between them cold where there’d been skin on skin before. He braces his hands against her shoulders, panting a little, pupils blown. His mouth is swollen. “Finn. Finn. Hey. Buddy. Stop, please. Look at me, okay? Stop.”

She stops, confused and still half hazy with lust. He’s looking at her like he wants to kiss her again, but there’s something else behind his eyes too, old and tired and ashamed. “Stars, Finn, I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean to – I promise, that wasn’t supposed to happen. What you must think of me.” He shakes his head, uncurls his legs from under hers. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, helpless.

“I don’t understand,” says Finn. Her belly is flipping back in on itself, knotting up into the beginnings of shame, and hurt. “Did I – did you not want to?”

“Yes! No! No, I –“ He shakes his head again, and groans, palming both hands over his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Finn. That was me. I should’ve known better than to –“ He cuts himself off, drops his hands, and exhales slowly. When he look at her again, that signature Poe Dameron smile is back, but it’s got an odd, sorrowful tilt that doesn’t sit quite right on his features. “Rey will be back,” he says softly, her name like a prayer, and claps Finn on the shoulder. “I promise. It’s going to be all right, okay?”

He lets himself out quietly, and Finn’s left staring for a long time at the hair ties scattered across the floor.

*

Poe is right about one thing: Rey does come back.

She arrives on base with Finn’s jacket draped loosely over her shoulders ( _Poe’s first_ , Finn’s brain supplies unhelpfully), practically blooming with the power coiled inside her. That coiled strength was always there, obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain, but it’s shaped differently now, seeping quietly into every movement and gesture and word. She’s not showing it off, creating a display the way Kylo Ren always did. This is something else: something ancient and ingrained and true. It’s as if she’s found the shape of her own soul. 

None of this stops her from – roughly five minutes after arrival – tackling a fully recovered Finn into a full bodied, graceless, and totally inelegant hug, shrieking her delight at a decibel that makes even the droids recoil a little. For her part, Finn hugs Rey back just as tight. Neither of them let go for a while, braced forehead to forehead.

“You’ve changed your hair,” says Rey. She’s tugging lightly at one of Finn’s coiled braids. “I like it.”

“Yours is the same,” Finn shoots back, tapping one of Rey’s topknots with a cheeky finger. She grins at the question on Rey’s face. “Don’t worry. I like that too.”

They fall right back into each other’s orbits. It’s almost the same as those first few harrowing days on the Millennium Falcon, only the space they occupy is wider now, stretched out and filled with a hundred plus more occupants. Finn and Rey live out of each other’s pockets, but there’s a whole world of existence to discover outside each other. In their time apart, Finn sees Rey chatting up a long line of curious, beeping droids, or trading banter with the base mechanics, or laughing at something one of the pilots said.

More often than not, that pilot is Poe Dameron. Finn tries not to stare at the two of them together, but it’s hard. Finn keeps finding them in the corner of her eye: their heads bent together, exclaiming over some engine or flight technique, Poe’s arm slung carelessly over Rey’s shoulders, Rey throwing her head back into a laugh, mid fighter repair, engine grease smeared over one cheek as she feigns throwing a wrench at Poe, who pretends to duck in terror.

They’re intoxicating, and so achingly beautiful together that it hurts Finn’s heart a little to look at them. _Rey will be back_ , Poe had said, and Finn wonders, stupidly, if this is what he’d meant, that he couldn’t kiss Finn because he was waiting for Rey. And really, looking at Rey, resplendent even covered in engine grease, who could blame him? Who could blame anyone?

As it turns out, Rey has her own say in this particular matter. It happens one night when Finn’s at the base’s training grounds, absently working through weapon forms. Finn may no longer be a Stormtrooper – may even be starting to believe it now – but some things she learned as a cadet will always be a part of her.

She’s halfway through a double-handed staff exercise when Rey coughs at her back. Finn whirls around, and Rey catches the staff before it can whack her full across the cheek. They’re frozen like that for a moment, Finn panting with exertion, Rey raising an eyebrow, fingers curled around the staff. “Looking for a little late night close quarters sparring, are we?”

Finn frowns. “Don’t you usually train with Poe?” It makes sense. Poe and Rey are both pilot born and bred, in their own way, and sometimes what they do in the air carries over to their planet-bound instincts. They’d probably fight well together.

Rey shakes her head. “Not as much in close quarters combat. Different skill set. Most of the pilots here focus on long range offense, since they spend so much time shooting from the sky, but –“

“— Not so for Jedi,” Finn finishes. 

Rey shrugs. “Or scavengers from Jakku. We adapt.”

Finn remembers the staff that collided with her head the very first time they met, and nods in agreement, maybe a touch too eagerly. 

Rey notices, her answering smile wry. “Care for a rematch?”

“Is that fair, after training with a living legend?”

Rey rolls her shoulders, bouncing lightly up and down on her toes. “What’s the matter, Finn?” She flashes white, white teeth. “You afraid?”

Finn narrows her eyes, and picks up the discarded staff. “You’re on.”

They’re surprisingly well matched, when one isn’t ambushing the other in the narrow aisles of a desert market stall. Rey seems to believe that the best defense is a good offense, and flies at Finn with a rapid series of maneuvers that only long-trained muscle memory allows Finn to parry. It’s exhilarating. Finn loses track of how many rounds they fight, how long they spend circling one another, trading blow for blow, parry and riposte. They match long staff against double stick, double knife against single stick, even practice sword to practice sword in absence of real lightsabers, and when they exhaust the armory, turn to barehanded combat. 

Finn plants her feet just in time to grab Rey’s right cross and fling the other girl over her hip on to the training mats. Rey doesn’t stay down easy, though: she kicks Finn’s feet out from under her, and the match goes to the ground, the two of them sweating and grappling, rolling over and over until their limbs are so tightly braided, it’s hard to keep track of whose belong to whom.

Rey finally locks her thighs tight around Finn’s waist, trapping her. When Finn tries to stand, Rey bucks, tilting them both back to the floor. Their noses are inches apart. Finn gets a full close up of Rey’s wide, savage white grin for about five seconds. Then she’s pulled into a sudden, sweaty, violent kiss. 

Finn gets another five seconds to be shocked about this. Then Rey shrimps out from under her, and twists her into a rudimentary but effective arm bar. “You are defeated,” the other girl crows, far too smugly.

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to gloat,” pants Finn. She can still feel Rey’s mouth on hers, like a faint buzz over her mouth. “Also, you cheated.”

Rey lets her up. “Should I not have?”

Finn, staring at a sweat-drenched Rey, her red mouth and her disheveled top knots, has absolutely no appropriate response to this question.

Rey searches Finn’s face -- with Jedi powers? With her own natural-born freaky powers of observation? It’s all disturbingly unclear – and seems to like what she finds there, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I thought not.”

Still, the words – for all their implicit bravado – are a little unsure, and Rey’s smile wavers just enough to give her away. Her uncertainty tugs at Finn’s heart, and Finn – in perfect honesty, she swears to the Light side of the Force, Finn is only going in for a hug – but Rey turns her head awkwardly at the last minute, Finn misjudges the angle, and the hug becomes something else. 

Who’s to blame for what happens next is up for debate, but all Finn knows is this: one moment, they’re still post-spar, sweaty and sizing each other up, and the next, the two of them are pinned together, open mouthed, Finn backing Rey up against the wall. They pant, half laughing, into each other’s mouths. Hands are everywhere, tangling in hair, roaming over curves, and Finn, remembering what happened the last time she put her mouth on a friend, waits for Rey to say _stop_ , to pull away, shut her out, tell her this was a mistake.

Instead, Rey wrenches Finn’s loose fitting training top open with an efficient flick of her wrist, and Finn’s brain distinctly says: _Oh, fuck it_. It shuts up for a long time after that. 

*

Kissing Rey quickly becomes Finn’s favorite pastime. Sometimes, Finn catches Rey’s hand at the mess hall, grinning at the instinctual little scowl that still creeps across the other girl’s face, and three minutes later, they’ll be necking in the nearest supply closet. Other times, Rey tackles her at the training grounds, and their sparring mutates rapidly into something else. They don’t talk about it much, but every time Finn starts to think about talking, Rey usually finds a far more interesting use for her mouth. 

Of course, after a few weeks of this, Finn has to go and screw it all up.

“You know, for the longest time, I thought you were with Poe,” Finn says one night in Rey’s room – or gasps, because Rey’s sucking a bruise right over her collarbone, which feels way better than it has any right to.

Rey looks up from her handiwork, eyes very wide. “You mean you’re not?”

“No!” Finn frowns, backing up and disentangling herself. Rey makes a small noise of protest at the contact loss. “You thought I was? Then why did you – I mean, why are we –“ Finn is sputtering, which is probably not very helpful, but she’s not sure how to stop. Maybe this is how droids feel when they’re given too much data to process.

Rey blows a stray lock of hair out of her bright red face, looking equal parts embarrassed and annoyed. “I don’t know. I’ve seen how you two look at each other, and I thought – well, never mind what I thought. But then you and I, even before we started doing… well, all of this, with each other, we always, we always…” Now Rey’s sputtering too. She flaps her hands in a dramatic gesture that might be pornographic or violent or both, but is mostly incomprehensible.

Finn stares. “I have a number of guesses as to what that meant, but you might hit me with your staff again if I suggest any of them.”

“Cycle back to each other!” Rey exclaims. “You and I, we always cycle back to each other. Honestly, how did you manage to interpret that as… no, no, never mind, I don’t need to know.”

“And what do you mean, the way Poe and I look at each other?” Finn presses, a little defensive now. “There’s nothing wrong with the way Poe and I look at each other! We’re friends! And yes, we kissed once, but –“

“I knew it.” Rey’s face is triumphant, and she pokes Finn squarely in the chest. “I knew it, I knew it!” With each ‘I knew it,’ she pokes a little harder, backing Finn right into the bedroom wall.

Finn groans, splaying her hands across her face and raking the pads of her thumbs over her eyelids. Why is this her life? She wasn’t raised for this. Going about grabbing people at random and passionately kissing them was highly discouraged in the Stormtrooper barracks. Finn has no roadmap for how to diplomatically manage the consequences of making out with one friend, much less two, much less being gleefully found out by the second that you made out with the first. 

“It’s not what you think” she says into the gaps between her fingers. “He didn’t want me. He probably wants you, in fact.”

Now Rey sounds really annoyed. “Of course he wants you.”

“How would you even know that?” Finn peeks out between her fingers again, a horrifying possibility crossing her mind. “Oh no, can you Force-read people’s sexual fantasies or something? Please tell me you don’t Force-read people’s sexual fantasies.”

“Finn!” squawks Rey. Scarlet blotches return to her cheeks.

“Well, I had to ask.”

Rey’s gone, if possible, even redder, but she’s set her jaw in that stubborn, utterly immovable way of hers that means there’s no escape from whatever appalling thing she’s about to say. “You don’t need to be Force sensitive to figure out what’s right in front of your nose. Poe doesn’t exactly have a face of stone. If you weren’t so determined to be oblivious, you’d realize he’s over the moon for you.” 

Finn opens her mouth to protest, but Rey stabs her in the chest with a finger again. “And don’t say that can’t be true because he likes me! You can like more than one person that way, you know.”

Finn drops her hands and narrows her eyes. The first wisps of a cloudy old suspicion have begun to congregate again in her mind. “Do _you_ like Poe that way?”

Rey’s expression is positively mulish. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” says Finn, opting for honesty, even though she kind of wants to sink into a hole in the floor and die. “But Rey, it doesn’t matter. We kissed once, but he stopped me. Maybe it’s different with you, but I already told you, he doesn’t want to be like that, with me.”

Rey’s expression softens. “Did he say something to you?” A note of protectiveness has crept into her voice. “If he was cruel to you, then –“

“No! No, not at all.” Honestly, Finn’s not sure if Poe Dameron’s got a cruel bone in his whole body. “He kissed me back for a little while, and then he stopped me, and said he was sorry, and that you were coming back, and that things would be okay.”

Rey’s eyebrows knit together. “He said that I was coming –“ Her expression goes blank, and then thunderous. “That _idiot_.”

Abruptly, she backs up and spins on her heel. “Excuse me, Finn. We’ll pick this back up later. Right now, I need to have words.”

The door slams behind her with excessive force. Finn stares at it for a few seconds, then turns her attention to a mirror by the bedside. The girl in the mirror is wearing her braids in complete disarray, her shirt still half undone, thanks to Rey’s nimble fingers. She looks very confused, and a little terrified. 

Finn sighs. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she informs the reflection mournfully.

*

When Rey doesn’t return after nearly half an hour, Finn finally does her shirt back up, tidies her hair as best she can – which isn’t much – and exits the bedroom. Unfortunately, because this is Finn’s life now, she exits straight into Jessika Pava, who’s slouched against a bannister three doors down, chewing on a piece of bubblegum. She grins around the gum when she sees Finn, in a way that positively spells trouble.

“Well, hey there.” Jess’ gaze lazily rakes Finn up and down. She pops the gum, all nonchalant showmanship. “Walk of shame, eh? Or do you prefer stride of pride?”

“Um,” says Finn. She adjusts the hem of her shirt. Why does Jess always look at people like she’s undressing them? “Well. I was just… doing something. For Rey.”

“Ah, Rey this time, hmm?” Before Finn can ask what ‘this time’ is supposed to mean, Jess has the audacity to drawl, “I’m sure you were doing a great many things for Rey.”

“Um,” repeats Finn, which is probably her most frequently spoken word in Jessika Pava’s presence. What is it with Finn and pilots, anyway? They’re clearly all insane. “Thank you, but I’ve gotta go. I have… I have an appointment.”

Jess rolls her eyes and jerks her head in the direction of the rooftop deck. “Oh, go. Your girlfriend and boyfriend are having it out up there.”

“Poe’s not my boyfriend!” snaps Finn. She refrains from adding, ‘And Rey’s not my girlfriend either,’ only because Not Talking About The Kissing means she doesn’t actually know if Rey’s her girlfriend or not, and it’s probably better to refrain from speaking in absolutes.

“Yeah?” Jess’ grin widens. The gum pops again. “How come you’re so sure I was talking about Poe?”

Finn ignores the bait for her own sanity, instead rushing past Jess for the staircase. She’s halfway up, when she hears a familiar pair of slightly raised voices.

“ – not a youngling!” Rey, her voice like a whip.

“I never said you were.” Poe. Finn’s stomach backflips, and she nearly starts back down the stairs before remembering that Jessika Pava is probably still lying in wait below, along with her strangely terrifying bubblegum. “But you’ve both been through a lot, and you’re good together. Good for each other. I don’t want to mess that up.”

“But you wouldn’t. You _wouldn’t_.” Finn catches the desperate edge of Rey’s voice as she hits the last step, which brings her up to the open roof just in time to see Rey kiss Poe full on the mouth.

Everyone freezes, as if they’re actors in a holovid on pause. Poe’s hands are clasped loosely over Rey’s shoulders, and he’s looking at Finn like he’s been shot by a blaster at point blank range. “Finn,” he says in a small voice. “Finn, I’m sor –“

Something snaps inside Finn at the expression behind Poe’s eyes. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s closed the space between them. Poe’s not a big man, and Finn’s not a small woman, but she still has to raise her head to kiss him, brushing her lips carefully against the spot where Rey’s had been seconds before. His mouth is as soft as she remembered, and he tastes like Rey.

Finn draws back, with an effort, and looks Poe in the eye. “If you don’t like me,” she says, and ignores the way her heart and stomach twist in unison at that thought, “if you don’t like me, or don’t like Rey, we won’t – we’ll stop bothering you.” She says this part with a quelling glance toward Rey, who still looks like she’s spoiling for a fight or a fuck or both. “You’re my – you’re our friend. You matter to us. But Poe, if you think you’re… you’re going to mess us up, or get in the way, or whatever, it’s not true. It’s just not true.”

Poe’s got his fingers pressed loosely against his mouth where Finn kissed him, where Rey kissed him, looking helplessly back and forth between them. Finn knows, intellectually, that he’s older than them both, but looking between them that way, vulnerable, his eyes seem so _young_. It’s easy to forget sometimes, with the company Finn keeps these days, that not everyone was raised a wind-up soldier or a penniless scavenger. Poe may be older in years, but Finn and Rey have seen and felt and done things he hasn’t, and with the grace of the Force, never will. 

“I like you,” Rey says, putting it more succinctly. She’s apparently determined to cut out all the nonsense and skip straight to the point. “Finn likes you.” She bites her lip, adding in a rush, “And of course we like each other too, but –“ Her gaze cuts over to Finn now, and Finn nods slowly, unspoken understanding coiled warm between them as Rey says, slowly and carefully, “-- there’s a place for you with us, if you want it.” In that moment, she looks as vulnerable as Poe, raw and open with hope.

When Poe doesn’t say anything, she wilts a little, and adds, “But if you don’t want that, we –“

Poe’s mouth is on hers before she can finish the sentence, one of his hands cradling the back of her skull. Rey squeaks a little, and then her hands fist into his hair, as she kisses back with interest, eyes sliding shut as he dips her backward. 

One of Rey’s hands finds Finn’s, pulls her between them, and stars, stars, there’s so much to see and feel and touch: Poe’s mouth at her neck, Rey’s at her lips, Finn’s own hands tangling somewhere in Rey’s top knots, tugging the other girl deeper into the kiss.

Finn comes up for air long enough to ask, “So that’s a yes then?” as Poe’s lips find her earlobe, and _oh_ , maybe more talking can wait. They’ve already talked more tonight than they have in weeks.

Poe laughs against her hair. “That” – he kisses her behind the ear – “is a very” – he drops a kiss to her pulse point – “enthusiastic” – sucking the same spot on her collar that Rey had been working at earlier that evening – “yes.” 

Then Rey’s reaching for him, and Finn’s caught again in a tangle between them, and that’s the last thing anyone actually says aloud for an hour or three.

It’s not a perfect relationship. It probably won’t ever be. But it’s messy and human and real, and for the time, it’s enough. Poe and Rey, the two of them here, curved warm and loving and wondrous around Finn: it’s more than enough.

*

(Much later:

“I hope you know,” Rey says, thoroughly spent, but still cheeky as ever, poking at Poe with one of her feet – she’s sprawled under Finn’s armpit, but her legs are dangling artlessly across Poe’s torso – “I hope you know, Dameron, that I expect you to fix my hair next.”

The answering laughter is the best thing Finn’s heard in a long time.)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe my entire motive behind this 'verse was plotless smut, and it still took me over 5000 words to even get them to bang. /facepalms


End file.
